Pitchfork Annie

35

She struggled against him, but Shipton had the enhancements afforded him by his Murcie condition. He slapped her hands away and, with the other hand, twisted her face to the side. Henry fought to rise to his feet, but, even though he could feel broken bones already healing, he had not the strength to reach them. Shipton laughed as he leaned forward and down, his mouth opening to fully reveal his unnatural teeth before plunging those teeth into Annie's throat.

Henry's hand rose to his mouth as he heard Annie emit a whimper of the kind he had never expected to hear from the woman. A sad, defeated whimper that sickened Henry. Not like this. He could not allow Annie to come to her end like this. Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to his feet, ready to die to stop Shipton. Yet, he had no need.

Shipton's head snapped backward, an animalistic howl erupting from deep within the man's body. He twisted away, hand rising to wipe at his mouth and began to retch, crawling away from Annie. Whatever it was that had caused Shipton's discomfort, Annie could not allow him time to recover. With blood pouring from the wound in her throat, she rose to her feet, shaky, but undeterred. Reaching behind her with both hands, she pulled the two scythes from her belt, stalking Shipton as he continued to howl and retch.

"Turn around, you son of a bitch." She kicked her booted foot into Shipton's back, sending him sprawling. "I said turn around!"

"What the hell are you, woman?" Shipton turned, on his knees, and Henry could see his now sunken features. "What is this befoulment of your blood."

"There were diseases before the Starfall and I got me a nasty one." Annie hooked both scythes against Shipton's throat, crossing her arms to do so. "There ain't nothin' more nasty than a bastard like you. Go to hell, Shipton, and pray that when I die, I don't meet you there."

Annie swept her arms apart, the two scythe blades scraping against each other, sparking, as they severed Shipton's head from his body. The head rolled and tumbled away, coming to a rest against the wall, Shipton's dead eyes staring back toward Annie as though in sheer disbelief that she had stopped him. Henry could not feel sorrow for the man even were his emotions not ravaged by the disease Shipton had inflicted upon him. The man did not deserve a single thought for his death. Annie, however, deserved all Henry's attention as her knees bent, the woman crumpling to the floor, scythes clattering from her hands.

"Annie!" He rushed to catch her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, his hand pressing against the wound in her throat that had, miraculously, begun to heal. "It's alright, Annie. You got him."

"The head. Don't burn the head." She made a feeble attempt to raise her arm. "Gonna need ... for bounty. Dammit! Forgot Hennessy's head and the other fella. I'll just ..."

Before she could finish her sentence, she fell into unconsciousness.

-+-

By the light of the lantern, Henry read the words he had written once again. No matter how many times he read it, it still came across a little cold. Full of detail, but lacking in the emotional backbone that drew most people to read newspaper articles. He frowned, rubbing his lips with a forefinger. It needed something that he no longer had to any great degree. The bite of Shipton had turned Henry into something as cold as those words on these sheets of paper.

Regardless, he had written something and that, in itself, felt like a great achievement after days of failing to write anything at all. He had not written the entirety of the article all at once. Interspersed between flashes of creativity, he had cleared out the bodies from this room, placing Shipton's head in a burlap sack, far from his body. He had also spent some time destroying some of the Drifters that still wandered outside the house. They would all need to go, one way or another, to allow Shipton's 'cattle' their freedom. Annie could help with that.

"I assume you are feeling far better than you were?" He turned in the seat to find Annie standing behind him. He had sensed her scent and heard her heartbeat all the way from upstairs, where he had laid her after the fight. "I managed to finish my article. With everything I have learned over the past few days, it may well help others. Perhaps even lead to a cure. One can hope."

"Hope is good." Even with his enhanced eyesight, no longer requiring spectacles, he could only see shadows across Annie's face. "I don't begrudge no-one hope."

"It's time, isn't it? I had hoped ..." He placed his hand upon the sheets of paper upon which he had written his article. "I had hoped you could have allowed me some time. To put my affairs in order. To inform my sister, Lily. I ... I suppose it's for the best."

"It is." Her hand moved and Henry saw the scythe held in an easy, relaxed grip. "You ain't fed yet, but you will. Tonight. Tomorrow. Don't matter. You'll feed and the old you would have felt a great shame in that. I owe it to you, to him, to make sure that don't happen."

Henry folded the sheets of paper, wrapping them with a black ribbon, before stuffing the papers into his bag. Shipton had left it close by, abandoned, seeing no worth in it and having no need to throw it away. Henry felt grateful for small mercies in that regard. Once everything had returned to its place, Henry stood, adjusting his jacket, shirt sleeves and collar. He tried to smile.

"Face it like a gentleman, eh? You know, Sheriff Earp said you'd be abandon me, but you haven't. You aren't. After a fashion, you are, in actuality, saving me." He raised his chin, trying not to look at the scythe in Annie's hand until something occurred to him. Something he had forgotten. "Before I go, please, grant me an indulgence. I would dearly wish to know ... Are you Annab ...?"

He didn't even feel the cut of the scythe blade.